Mipps, thinking him to be occupied below the coffin with his buckets, very quickly picked up the parchment he
had thrown down, but Percy saw him do this through the trestles on which the coffin rested, and he wondered why
Mipps who had thrown away the paper should pick it up again, and place it with so much care and so furtively inside
the old tin containing the snuff. He would have liked to have seen that parchment with the drawings, and was about
to ask Mipps if he might do so, when there suddenly dashed through the open door a fisherman named Hart, who,
seeing Percy, shouted out, “ Where’s Mipps?”
“Here he be,” replied that worthy, looking round from the dark corner where the shelves were. “What do you
want, mate? Something wrong?”
“Aye, big trouble, Sexton,” explained the fisherman, who was almost out of breath with running.
‘Trouble?” snapped Mipps, and Percy wondered why he put his finger to his lips, and glanced angrily first
towards the fisherman and then in his direction.
“Personal trouble,” replied Hart. “Nothing to do with King’s men or wicked smugglers. No. It’s that our boat
has been washed up on the tide and badly holed. She’s empty, too, and my young bother had her out last night.
May I have the loan of yours to search for him?”
“Of course, mate,” replied the Sexton, quickly pulling on his coat. ‘I’ll come along and lend a hand. Poor young
Fred. Not come back, eh? And his wife with a new-born kid.”
“Aye, and what seems to make it worse,” went on Hart, “is this day being the old folks’ Golden Wedding. The
only hope is that Fred may have got picked up, but it’s slender.”
“Aye, maybe, by some vessel that couldn’t put him ashore immediate like, replied Mipps. “There’s a good
chance of that, I should say. Fred’s a good swimmer and a strong enough lad, and there weren’t a great sea running
last night. Come along. We can pull round to Dungeness and see if we can hear nay news of him. Last night’s tide
ran that way.”
As he hurried to the door he looked at back at Percy. “Stow them other floats on the shelf there, my lad,” he
ordered, “and don’t go changing ‘em from what we said whatever happens, mind.”
Left alone, Percy’s curiosity got the better of him, for as he placed the spare pieces of wood on the shelf his hand
touched the tin of snuff. There could be no great harm in opening it, he thought, and having a look at the drawings
from which Mipps had fashioned the floats.
When he took the lid off and peered inside, he could see nothing but the dark brown stuff, and no sign of the
parchment. But he remembered that Mipps had given the tin a good shaking, and had thus covered it up with the
snuff. Percy wondered whether he had done this on purpose. Why should Mipps want to hide a small piece of
parchment which he had already crumpled up and thrown carelessly away and then picked up again? Percy put his
ling fingers into the tin, and sure enough he found the parchment buried beneath the snuff. He drew it out very
carefully, anxious not to spill any of the brown dust, which made Mipps sneeze so heartily. He somehow did not
want Mipps to know that he was prying. The little sexton might not like it, he though, and he did not want to vex
one who had shown him such kindness.
He looked at Judy, and was relived that her eyes appeared to be close shut beneath her heavy, languid lids. He
hoped she wouldn’t tell the Sexton what he was doing, but for the life of him he could not resist the temptation. He
had meant to ask the Sexton if he might see it when all was said and done, and this though weighed with him and
gave him a little comfort.
Now although Percy had done little good for himself at school, partly because he hated the master, Mister Rash,
who had no patience with him, and made him a butt upon all occasions, and partly because everyone calling him the
Village Idiot, he took no pains to make them think otherwise, he had at least mastered the alphabet, and could spell
a few words of one syllable. In spite of this limitation he yet knew all the names on the local signposts, and no
sooner had he spread out the piece of parchment, than he recognized that here was a list of familiar places, against
which were sketches of his bits of wood. There, for instance, was the starboard club and the port diamond,
commanded by Judy, and against them was the name Littlestone Beach. After some difficulty he made out the word
at the top of the list to be LANDINGS. Two hearts together against ‘Dungeness, Sou’ west’, made him think of this
sudden trouble to the Hart family.
He not only liked Fred, who had always been kind to him, but he knew how much the old people had looked
forward to the golden Wedding, which was to be a day of great rejoicing, and now it seemed all was spoiled. As he
stowed away the list into the tin and covered it once more with the snuff, his eyes filled with tears of sorrow for the
Harts, so to clear his snivelling, which he had no wish for the parish to see upon his first day of rounds with his new
floats, he stole a good pinch of snuff, had a prodigious sneeze and felt better.
Then with the ace of clubs in his right bucket and the diamond ace in his left, he went back to the well to refill.
Now although the Hart tragedy was the source of village gossip, he could not fail to notice that at each cottage
particular interest was taken in his bits of wood.
Some folk said how good it was of the Sexton to have taken so much pains, and others praised the workmanship
and quaint design. As the interest continued throughout his round, Percy thought of that piece of parchment in the
tin of snuff, and quite suddenly, from one of the livelier cells in his queer and generally sluggish brain, he became
aware of a startling fact which he realized was true, namely, that he was being used to carry these signs at the
Scarecrow’s orders. He knew well enough what the word
LANDINGS signified at the head of the mysterious
list. He knew that there were no landings carried out upon the neighbouring coastline that were not the work of the
Scarecrow. The signs in his buckets meant Littlestone Beach. In spite of the utmost care exerted by all concerned
not to give themselves away when a landing and a run was contemplated, there was a something in the air that made
Percy suspicious. On such nights he would never go out late to dig lug for his patron, Mipps. In fact, Mipps would
generally tell him that he was not in need of lug upon such occasion.
The more Percy thought about it, the more he was convinced that he was being used by the dreaded Scarecrow,
and frightened as he wa s of the gallows permanently standing so close to his well, he was more scared of the
Phantom Rider of the Marsh and his followers of whom such dreadful tales were told.
It was this terror that persuaded him at all costs to keep his dreadful discovery to himself, and not to mention it
even to his mother.
He tried hard to forget what he had guessed, but found it impossible, and to make matters even more frightening
he made another discovery that very evening at the start of his last water-round, which set his heart thumping with
fear.
He was about to enter the open door of the dark barn in which the sailors were billeted when he heard a moan as
of a man in pain. Now Percy had a hatred of pain which made him almost hysterical. He could not bear pain
himself nor to see it in others, and this pitiful moaning coming from the darkness frightened him, and he wished that
there had been a sailor mounting guard outside the barn as there had been in the morning when he had delivered the
water. He then realized that in the morning he had approached the barn from the other side which was the main
entrance. The open door faced the Marsh and not the village. The guard would therefore be outside the closed door
on the opposite side.
Percy stood still and listened. He could hear nothing but those whimpering moans, and thought it must be some
sick sailor left by himself in the barn while his fellows had gone out on duty. He tried to make up his mind what
was best to be done. In the morning the sailor on guard had taken in the buckets of water, saying that Percy was not
allowed abroad. The water cask was inside the barn, and it sounded as though the sick sailor would not have the
strength to take in the buckets, which Percy had no intention of leaving.
It looked therefore as though he must disobey the orders of the morning sentry, and go boldly in himself. It never
occurred to him to go round to the other side of the barn and find the sentry. But there was so much to be afraid of.
The Scarecrow, who was using him to carry messages, without asking his consent, and the sailors themselves. He
was water-carrier to the dragoons, too, and would it infuriate the Scarecrow that he was thus doing service to the
enemies of the Nightriders?
It was then that the groans rose into a pathetic squeal, like that of a trapped animal. Percy suddenly thought
about the story of the Good Samaritan which Doctor Syn had told them about in Sunday school. Christian charity
told him it was his duty to go and see if he could help this sufferer. Perhaps a drink of water would do him good.
He was just going in, on this resolve, when he was pulled up sharp by a voice which he recognized at once as
Captain Blain’s, and its very first sentence made him go weak at the knees.
“That’s enough for the moment, men, or he’ll faint, and an unconscious man cannot give information, and that
we have got to get.”
The relentless tone of that deep husky voice frightened Percy enough, but the words that followed brought a
sweat of panic on to his brow.
“Now, Fred Hart, if that’s your name as I understand, think well. The village thinks you dead. Why? Because
we stoved in your boat. If you persist in refusing to tell me what I wish to know, in the King’s name, I’ll have you
shipped aboard a man-of-war quicker than the Press gang, and no one here will be any wiser. Your conscience tells
you not to be disloyal to your fellows, eh? Well, it is better that you should be when is comes to proving yourself
loyal to your Kung. No man can be blamed for obeying the law of his country, and you have the fortunate
opportunity of being able to atone for your law-breaking by a full confession. If you do the right thing and follow
now the straight path of your duty, you will be accorded safety and reward. If you do not, I can either ship you to
sea, sell you to the Plantations, or, to save a lot of trouble, string you up to the yardarms as a member of this
Scarecrow’s gang. I’ll pledge you my word not to ask awkward questions concerning your own relations. That
bother of yours for instance, who is no doubt as implicated as you are. Blood is thicker than water as the saying
goes, and you should think of your wife and kid. Now then, am I to extract this information by ordering my men to
give you another dose of pain, or do you want to go home with money for your wife and kid? If it’s information got
from torture I warn you there will be no reward and no pardon. If you tell me now with freewill, I’ll see that no one
knows from whom I gained information.”
“The Scarecrow knows everything,” replied Hart’s voice, which, though very weak, Percy recognized.
“And you’re afraid of what he’ll do to you, eh?” retorted the Captain. “Well, I give you my word, he’ll not be
able to do a thing, for he’ll be swinging before he knows a thing against you. Now come along, Hart. You’ve
shown yourself a brave man, according to your lights, and I’ve no wish to duty, and I must do mine. No? Well your
damned obstinacy means good-bye to your wife, kid and home. Give him another, men.”
Whether they did nor not, Percy was not sure. The sharp squeal which Hart let out may have been due to a
horrible anticipation. But the squeal was short -lived and tailed into the sentence of, “I’ll speak and god help me.”
“Sensible fellow,” came the Captain’s voice in a kinder tone. “Now then, Hart, I must know first when and
where the next contraband is going to be landed.”
Percy listened to the weak voice almost whispering: “Tonight, sir, on Littlestone Beach at the low tide. The
Scarecrow will be there, and if you can discover who or what he is you’ll be wiser than any of his followers. Now
set me free in God’s name and let me go home.”
“When I know that your information is correct you will be let go,” replied the Captain’s voice in a tone of
triumph.
Just then Percy had a narrow escape.
A sailor swung out of the darkness and pulled up quickly in the doorway s he saw the unexpected water-carrier.
Percy knew that the agitation he had gone through over what he had overheard must show clearly on his face.
The sailor had every reason to suspect that he had been listening to the Captain interviewing Hart. But Percy was
too quick for him by doing nothing quickly. Very slowly he set the buckets down and unhooked the yoke, allowing
the pain written upon his face to appear as though it had been written there by fatigue.
“Water, sir,” he said wearily.
The whole bearing of the lad convinced the sailor that he had only just got to the door, but to make quite sure he
asked, “Been waiting long, lad?”
“You saw me put them down,” replied Percy, indicating the filled buckets. “P’raps some ‘ud hold ‘em standing
still, but I has enough of ‘em when walking. Shall I bring ‘em in?”
“You stay here.” Ordered the sailor. “I’ll take ‘em and show our Captain your clever dodge with them bits o’
wood. I was telling him how you prevent your legs from being splashed, but he didn’t see the buckets come abroad
this morning same as t he rest, and he’ll be interested.”
While waiting for his buckets to be returned empty, that live cell in Percy’s brain worked clearly for the good of
the parish. It told Percy that it had been the bits of wood that had enabled poor Fred to turn traitor against the
Scarecrow, and Percy knew that would mean the rope for anyone caught that night upon Littlestone Beach.
Now is the ‘landing’ was changed to the far side of Dungeness, thought Percy, the smugglers would be hidden by
the promontory. He remembered that two hearts stood for Dungeness Sou’west on the list,. If he changed the signs
it would at least be a warning to those concerned.
When Percy got an idea into his head he would carry it out with a stubbornness that showed grit, and so directly
he received back the buckets he hurried off to the Coffin Shop to find Mipps and to change the signs.
It so happened that Mipps was at the Vicarage, but the door of his store being open, Percy entered and went
straight to the shelf upon which stood Judy, the idol.
“Got to change ‘em, Miss Judy,” said Percy, as he picked up the two hearts in place of the club and diamond. “If
the Sexton was here I’d ask him, but as he ain’t, I asks you. As you’re a good Christian idol, please make the
Sexton know that I done it for the best. I’ll be glad of your good word, Miss Judy, and thankee.”
Percy continued his round to the cottages, and when he saw what a deal of surprise and runnings and whisperings
the two hearts in the buckets caused, he knew that his theory was right. But for his own inner satisfaction he